in the Greater Depression

a seedling will be worth $1000
(but you must account for inflation)

the wind will still blow
and the sky might be bluer
a sea blue
and I will still love
those wrinkles at your eyes
and we’ll get by in the ash
marking a path to the garden
each time, the tomatoes
a little greener


dog sightings from a foggy mountain drive:
shepherd rolling in wet grass
beagle with an orange hunting collar watching as I pass
pyrenees walking his two goats
blue heeler nosing a water bottle in the road, gone by the time I turn around


I’m sending my books away
the unread, the disliked, even
the loved
what can a row of books
sitting on a sill tell you
about yourself
what will they say about you
when they’re gone


there’s a baby vulture sitting on the ground
but we’re the ones hanging from tree limbs
he’s watching us with red-rimmed eyes
through our olive branches and ivy, waiting


Komodo dragon in my dream
curls up beside me like a dog
under the lake surface
a sea turtle wrestles with a snake


her hands smell of eucalyptus
hiding in a dark bathroom
after too much gin
but it’s a night of merry
and white
a crisp of november air


I pass by a glowing window
a woman in red at her desk
monitors flickering
a single square of light
what is waiting for her at home?


a squirrel in the hallway
the single pink rose blossom in a freeze
a man on horseback in traffic
things that don’t belong
but do anyway


the shores of Ischia are calling
that city of flour and salt
out beyond the waterfront
the waves breaking
over a song